Respect for the Dead
by LittleNikki
Summary: How does someone face the end of the world? What is possibly worth survival if not for the ones you love? A story of broken promises, filthy mouths, and learning to respect the living and dead. Daryl D./OC, Billie W.
1. Gasoline

_House is haunted_

_I just want to go for a ride_

_Out and on_

_Before I set this room alight_

_Left alone forever and for crimes unclear_

_With my patience gone_

_Someone take me far from here_

_Gasoline ~ Audioslave_

The red arm of the speedometer ticks away silently beneath her peripheral vision. It is cloudy, and the left windshield wiper on the car does nothing to rid the glass of the gathering mud. Neither of that matters of course, not anymore.

Knuckles are white against the steering wheel as she continues to drive dangerously fast across the back roads of the Atlanta woods. A path driven many times before, never at this pace, but well known nonetheless.

"Oh God." Billie mumbles to herself, for probably the twenty-fifth time now. She's been behind the wheel for over an hour, maybe more. Time seems to have become meaningless as well. Her thoughts are still frantic with what little information has been gathered in haste. Things were bad, people were dying, reason enough to grab the car keys and high tail it the fuck out of work.

She contemplates fiddling with the radio again. Not much point anymore. All broadcasts told to go into the city; Billie chose to go the opposite.

A ranch is in the clearing about a mile off, the destination as it were. By all accounts, everything looks normal, much to the relief of her rapidly beating heart. The horses are grazing calmly, serenely, a needed comfort from the chaos that is occurring just a dozen miles away.

The Pontiac, beaten and dented, arrives in a cloud of dust and dirt. Her legs are shaky after such a long period of immobility. Adrenaline dulls the ache.

"Norman!" Billie almost burst into tears at the sight of the large dog dashing from around the gate, clearing the fence in one leap and running to greet her. The German Shepard seems nearly as happy, although he always did tend to appear as such. She spends little time to appease his eager attentions, merely patting him on the head as she move past and run up to the front door, the soft pads of his four paws hitting the dirt behind her.

The first thing Billie notices as she enters the unlocked door is the smell. Oh God, the smell. A sense of overpowering dread follows soon after.

"Mom?" Her voice cracks underneath this immense pressure. The house is dark, overcast skies only adding a dim, eerie sort of light. This isn't right. It is nearly dinner, and where her mother would normally be busying herself in the kitchen is instead filled with yet more consuming silence.

Norman whines plaintively behind her. Never was much of a risk taker that one. She reaches back and scratches his ear comfortingly, carefully navigating her way throughout the empty kitchen.

"Henry? Please, somebody." She is pleading with the air now, hands grasping at the walls as she blindly walks through the narrow hall. The master bedroom is to her left; her stepfather's study just a further bit down to the right. The stench is growing stronger as she reaches for the doorknob, the alarms in her mind causing hesitation. Did she really want to see what is behind this door? By the smell alone, she can tell that it is coming from this room, whatever **it** is.

"Mom?" Billie can hear movement, dulled by the loud creak of the door's hinges as she peeks her head through first. It doesn't take long for her to find the source; the familiar flowery patterned back of her mother's nightgown the first to catch her attention.

Norman lets out a weak bark like whine before growling defensively, his pointed ears pinning to the back of his head as he takes a low stance before her. The hunched figure does not respond at first, the immobile legs of a stout man leaving no questions to be asked as to what held it's current focus. The bloodied and puss oozing head whips around just as Billie reaches forward to grasp onto Norman's collar, eyes glazed over with a hunger-lust and small intestines hanging from it's slacked jaw.

She takes only a second to ponder the situation. Yes, it is wearing her mother's face, and yes, it was just now eating the man who practically raised her from birth. The fight or flight instinct is stronger than any sense of melancholy, and it only takes her a second more to yank Norman back and slam the door shut.

A loud screech erupts from the other side of the door, soon followed by the frantic bangs of the creature beating carelessly against it. Billie moves to escape the way she came, Norman barking warningly before running to the opposite end and into the study. He at least seems to know what he is doing, and seeing as she does not, Billie soon follows.

Another door between them and that thing allows her another moment to reassemble her thoughts, her back falling against the wood as she slides down to the carpet. They wouldn't hold, not for long. God bless the man, but Henry was indeed no handyman. These doors were probably as old as the ranch, and the hinges wouldn't fare much better.

Adrenaline helps to keep focus on the task on hand, surviving. Billie scans the room while Norman paces nervously by the window. Escape, that's a start. She doesn't notice that tears are beginning to steam down her cheeks. She doesn't have the luxury.

Billie scampers to the desk on the other end of the room, the hair's she had so painstakingly placed into a bun this morning now framing her face like a tattered curtain.

Hands yank and tug and rake, searching for any sort of defensive favor. A letter opener, some scissors, hell she'd even take a damn sharpened pencil. Preferably, she would love to find something that could put distance between this creature and herself. Of all the things her doughy stepfather could have kept secret, she silently prays that there was a stashed handgun hidden in these drawers somewhere.

Christmas comes to mind, two years ago to be precise. A gift given to Henry from her uncle Jimmy, her mother's brother and a lifetime hunter. A top of the line, compound hunting bow. Guaranteed to take down any deer, hog, or even an "enraged fucking grizzly" if you believed uncle Jimmy that is. Hunting wasn't exactly the amateur golfer's cup of tea, but he accepted the gift graciously enough, even promising to go out with Billie's uncle one of these times.

Her heart seems to stop for a moment as she glances over to the adjoining closet. If any God still exists and took pity upon her poor, royally screwed soul, her stepfather would have stuffed that damned thing back into that crowded closet never to be looked at again. A loud crack echoes throughout the house, followed by a few loud bangs and a long, guttural moan.

It made it through the first door.

It's not long after, that the desperate clawing at wood begins to start at the study door. Billie doesn't waste another second to get to that closet, nearly ripping the handle off as she wrenches it open.

It is definitely crowded, not helpful for the current situation. She knocks over a few boxes to dig her way to the back, eyes squinting in the darkness to barely make out a faint outline of a tautly stringed object leaning against the wall.

"Thank you." She whispers, unsure as to whom exactly she is thanking at that moment. Her fingers find purchase at the bow and grip it tightly, as if her very life depends on it, which of course, it does. The custom arrows are not far off, bundled neatly together with a scrunchie of all things.

"Oh, mom." Billie smiles sadly, bittersweet memories causing her hand to tremble and teeth to gnaw against her lower lip. Norman begins barking once more, shaking her head back into reality as she once again climbs throughout the maze of forgotten junk.

Norman is on high alert, his stance fearful yet defensive as the insistent pounding is joined by a familiar popping noise. Billie too takes a weak stand next to her canine companion, drawing the bow up to chest level and notching an arrow. Hardly experienced in the art of archery, she's seen enough movies and played enough video games to get the main gist of the skill.

"Alright boy," She glances down to Norman, his dark eyes portraying the same fear hidden beneath her own glare, "I can do this, right?" She unsuccessfully tries to wipe the tears clouding her gaze with her shoulder, leveling the sight of the bow at the same petite height that would be at her mother's head.

The door cracks in two with the sound of Norman's predatory bark. The bloodied face of her mother emerges from the destruction, Billie's fingers flinching back as the arrow flies loose unintentionally. It misses its mark, embedding itself in the wooden trim of whatever remains of the doorframe. She turns around to unsheathe another arrow, silent sobs racking across her body as she once again faces her clearly dead but still moving mother. Her torso is almost completely through the wreckage, gnarled fingers grasping desperately at the air separating them.

The muscles in Billie's arm burn, unused to this sort of activity, as she once again draws back the arrow she intends to send flying into my mother's skull. Taking a second to remember to exhale, she lines up the shot.

"I'm so sorry." The arrow does not miss this time, landing off center and to the left of her decaying forehead. Her movements cease, along with Norman's insistent barking.

The instincts of survival at any cost disappear just as soon as they had appeared, Billie crumbling to the floor as the empty eyes of her mother look on. The realness of the situation takes hold, her entire body shaking as she continues to cry unabashed. She can faintly feel Norman's cold nose nudging at her temple, his continued whining relaying her own broken feelings.

OOO

Birds chirping. Always with the goddamn chirping.

The world was over. The overwhelming dead walk the streets of the few remaining living, but hell if the fucking birds wouldn't shut up for one morning.

Billie rubs a hand over her face, stuck somewhere between the two conscious states that occupy the mind. Another nightmare of the night she had killed her own mother, then stepfather, and had to burn their bodies with siphoned gasoline. Not a good night's sleep in the faintest sense.

She glances over to the hound twitching quietly near the entrance of the tent, his snout the only thing peeking out through the flap. His tail flops twice, his head soon snapping up in attention at the awareness of his owner's eyes upon him.

"Morning handsome." She remarks, kicking a sweat soaked leg out from under the unzipped sleeping bag. Why she continued to sleep in such a thing in this sweltering Georgia heat, she really couldn't say. Maybe it had something to do with a false sense of security? Yet another thing separating her from the animated corpses that wanted so desperately to tear into her flesh like a peeled grapefruit. Who knows these days?

Norman trots over to nuzzle at her exposed neck, hot breath brushing back the shortened strands of dark hair barely reaching to her shoulders.

"I know buddy, it's hot and you're hungry." She ruffles the thick fur at his neck, "How bout we go take a dip after we check with the others, yea?" It's still early, probably around five thirty by the looks of the orange glow creeping through the tent. Only a few of the other survivors in camp would be up by now, Billie moving quietly to the dirt, blood, and God knows what else encrusted jeans lying unfolded on the other end of the blanket.

The hot sun does nothing to lighten her mood as she emerges. This heat, one of the many reasons Billie tended to travel so frequently from her homeland. In another life, she would have liked to live somewhere breezy, frequent with rain and little risk of drought in the summer. That would be nice. Then again, so would four solid walls without the stench of rotten flesh mattered against them.

"Mornin!" Billie shields her eyes from the glare as she glances up to the source of noise, Dale's white bearded face grinning down at her from his spot atop the RV. She waves up with her free hand, plucking the damp tank top from her skin allowing the slightly less warm air to brush against her abdomen.

Carol is also not too far off, situated at her usual position at the clothesline near the south end of the camp. Her daughter Sophia is also there, collecting whatever clothespins may have fallen to the ground and otherwise assisting.

A small whine reminds Billie of the canine impatient to shed some of that thick undercoat. Not that she can blame him. Just watching the poor dog pant around all day makes her want to pass out most of the time.

"I'm heading down to the lake," She calls up to the elder man reclining back in a lawn chair, "I'll be back in an hour."

"Are you sure you don't want to wait for some of the other women? I don't like the idea of anyone walkin off on their own." His gaze is apprehensive beneath the floppy fisherman's hat. This fatherly concern he shared for the group is heartwarming, if not a bit alarming at his ease of trust in complete strangers.

Billie waves him off once more, this time in dismissal.

"I'm fine. Plus I'm not alone," She pats the side of the formidable looking hound, "Killer here won't let nothin get the jump on me." Which was true. Norman would let Billie know about a Geek a mile away without a second's hesitation. Helping her in a fight however, well, the dog still is a bit unsure as how to react accordingly to the ravenous once human creatures.

Dale seems comforted nonetheless, nodding before casting his eyes back onto the vast wilderness that both terrifies and protects them.

The walk down the quarry to the encompassed lake is a bit of a hike for the pair, Billie grabbing a fierce looking stick along the way to use as leverage against the steep slope of the land. Not a bad weapon either, if the worse was to come of her little side trip as so easily it could in this fucked up world she was living in, surviving in.

Norman on the other hand is already halfway down the trail, Billie not surprised if he was to forget her completely. His momentary hesitations and brief glances back insist otherwise.

"Where ya off to girlie?" Billie's insides twist at the familiar drawl calling out from behind her, "It ain't safe for a pretty little thing to be walkin 'round all unprotected." She doesn't turn around, purposefully ignoring his goading tone up until the moment his hand clamps down onto her bare shoulder.

His breath hits the back of her ear, the distinct stench of nicotine and wild animal clinging to the back of her shirt as strong as the sweat pooling at the base of her spine.

"Good morning Merle, looks like you slept well." He doesn't respond, merely clicks his tongue as the heat of his gaze sweeps over her backside.

"Hardly, what with all that moanin and groanin ya were doin. Dreamin 'bout me again darlin? All ya need to do is ask." The smirk on his crooked lips is down right predatory as Billie finally turns to face him, her own smirk almost an equal match.

"Nah, this one was about Daryl." Merle lets out a barking laughter, which to anyone else would have seemed just plain scary. To Billie though, she knew deep down the man was nothin but hot air, mean words, and a puffed up chest. A front to hide the beaten and scared kid he was determined to not remember.

"Daryl? Why would ya want my pencil dick little brother? Man wouldn't know what to do with a woman if she had her four titties an' a big red arrow pointin to her pussy." Billie had to laugh at the one, "Nah, girl like ya needs a man, a big man. And honey, I'm big in all the right places, don't ya worry."

Billie returns to her descent of the quarry, her boot slipping somewhat against the unsteady terrain of dust and rocks.

"Speaking of," She shrugs easily from Merle's loosened grip, ignoring the tail end of his previous statement, "Where is your little shadow today? Finding himself more rats to drag back to camp?"

"Them rats will seem mighty tasty when ya got nothin to gnaw on in a couple days sweetheart, don't ya be judgin nothin yet." Billie shrugs, glancing over her shoulder to see Merle following close at her heels.

"Who's judging? Never said anythin about rats being bad, to eat or otherwise." She points an accusatory finger back in his direction, "Sounds like you're the one who is judging." Another roaring laughter follows, Merle patting the smaller woman on the shoulder before jogging on up ahead. He reaches Norman at the base of the trail, the dog bouncing joyfully against his legs. If anyone were to put the fight in that dog, it would be Merle Dixon, and Billie was all too happy to go ahead and let him. It was hard enough covering her own ass against a horde of undead, let alone a cowardly pooch with sharp teeth and nails at his unwilling disposal. So much for that killer instinct.

Poor Norman had been all but useless as an asset from the moment of escaping the nightmares of her mother's ranch, through the mad dash back to the city and assumed safety, to the moment of discovery of the small band of survivors vehemently advising her to abandon that hope and join with them. How she survived at all before that was still a mystery. Her Pontiac, serving as a valuable battering ram against the wall of zombies that separated her from the main road, had become useless soon after. With no vehicle, a dog better suited for napping, and herself holding a weapon with no training how to operate it, Billie was pretty much just screwed.

Pure dumb luck, really the only explanation for anything good happening these past two months.

"Merle!" The second Dixon brother's bellow for the first causes Billie to flinch and scowl, a typical reaction nowadays to anything louder than a normal speaking tone. Reaching the bottom Billie glances up to see Daryl bounding down the trio's previously traveled path, crossbow bouncing against his back as always. Along with that almost pained squint of his, hiding what Billie knew to be two almost unsettling blue eyes.

Agile as any seasoned hunter would be, the younger man makes it down in nearly half the time it took Merle's oversized ass to, doubling that against Billie's casual stride.

"The fuck Merle?" He glances, annoyed, between Merle's disinterested expression and Billie's uncaring one, her lightly tapping Norman on the behind as a signal to move forward to the lake. They leave the two Dixon brothers to whatever the hell was going on between them, none of it any of her business really. She neither cared, nor had the patience to stick around close enough to eavesdrop.

Not that they weren't an interesting pair, far from it. Honestly between the normalcies of the rest of the group, the Dixons were a goddamn sideshow. Between Merle's constant racial slurs and Daryl's obvious indifference to everything and everyone around him, they were just not a very pleasant pair to be around is all. Even still, Billie had managed to spare a few moments to attempt to be cordial to the men, Merle's instant fondness of Norman and shameless sexual insinuations towards her the only reactions she had managed to pry out. Daryl she had just given up on completely.

The water glistens alluringly in sight as the German Shepard barrels ahead again, disrupting the calm lake with a hurried splash. Billie is all too ready to rush in after, sparing a quick glace back to the brothers now locked in a heated argument. Too distracted as it were to notice the young woman strip from her well worn in clothing, down to a bra and mismatching underpants.

She slips into the water unnoticed, well, except for Norman. Not that he much cared for an almost naked human woman treading water beside him. Ducking her head underwater she lets the grim and mud that had caked onto her unevenly chopped hair wash away with the gentle ripples. For a moment, it is almost too easy to imagine the rest of the mess dirtying Billie from the inside out to float away with browning water. To forget the arrow piercing her parent's skull, the charred flesh forevermore staining her nostrils, the last tear she vowed to shed at their ambiguous ashes, her promise to survive all this madness and give them a proper funeral.

If only for a second.

_A/N: Alright! So there it is, the first chapter of my Daryl/OC story. I hope to fully explain the character of Billie gradually throughout the events that will also change her. I will keep this short, please as always leave a review or shoot me a message if you enjoyed this introduction and wish me to continue. Best fucking motivator in the world! I pray that all of you caught the little joke there with the name I chose for Billie's dog, I really do. If not, well you probably need to get the hell out of this story and start Googling._


	2. Taking Aim

_Every time when I look in the mirror_

_All these lines on my face gettin clearer_

_The past is gone_

_It went by, like dusk to dawn_

_Isn't that the way_

_Everybody's got dues in life to pay_

_Dream On ~ Aerosmith_

"Damn it!" Billie snatches her leg from yet another twisted, fallen tree. A dead branch catches at the edge of her blouse, tearing the edge and freeing the length of it from the waistband of her jeans. The stupid thing was becoming more of a hindrance, both in the high sun and low jagged surroundings that seem to want to grab on for the ride. She shrugs out of the shirt and lets her skin breathe for a moment.

"Oh man, why didn't I do that sooner?" She glances down to the panting dog now lying at her feet, no longer able to hold his own weight if he really didn't have to. They had been walking for God knows how long, ten fucking hours for what it felt like. Realistically, it was probably just two, also counting the hour it took to drive away from her parent's place.

The woods were maybe turning out to not be such a good idea. She had no damn clue where she was, nor any landmarks to point her in a familiar direction. The road was too crowded, too many people drawing the attention of the rotting cannibals wandering, albeit slowly, to the easy source of food. With a car running on fumes, the best choice at the time seemed to be abandonment. The Pontiac may be nothing but scrap metal now, but hell if she didn't take some of those bastards down on her way out.

Two sharp, out of place, whistles grab Billie's attention immediately. That was definitely not a bird. Her head whips in each direction, the bow hanging awkwardly at her shoulder slapping her cheek raw.

"Is someone there?" She immediately regrets the words as they tumble from her lips. Might as well strip down right now and wait for the madman with an axe to lop her head off.

Norman is on his feet now, glancing to the only familiar face left in his world. His heightened senses would make it much easier to discern which direction the misplaced noise came from, Billie returning his gaze as he begins sniffing at the air. Again the whistle sounds, this time low and drawn out.

Now they were just fucking with her.

OOO

Laundry day. Just thinking the words left a dirty taste in Billie's mouth. Sexism is clearly still alive and well in this post-apocalyptic world as each of the women in camp does their part of the chore. Her job as it were, begrudgingly so, is to gather and fold the already dried clothes. Carol had already gotten a head start on her own line, Billie not even a quarter of the way along in comparison.

"This sucks." Amy groans. The blonde teenager winces as her sister, Andrea, flicks playfully at the back of her ear. The pair is in charge of hanging the freshly washed apparel, quick on the heels of Billie's lackluster pace.

"Quit your complaining." Andrea scolds from behind the cover of a men's undershirt. Jim's by the look of it.

"Not like she's wrong." Billie points out, smirking at the peeved look the elder sister casts her way. Andrea shakes her head, her smile betraying the attempts of relaying annoyance. The woman was too easy to read for her own good.

A quick glance around camp only reminds Billie of the inequalities of the gender roles in this place. Not that the men weren't pulling their weight, far from it. Glenn and T-Dog sit alert atop the RV, keeping watch for any signs of the horrors of the outside world breaking through the tree line. Shane is probably off somewhere keeping inventory and upkeep of weapons taken care of. While the Dixon boys were off on their morning hunt, Dale and Jim were tinkering around with the vehicles. That leaves Morales to keep an eye on the children, along with the help of Norman chasing them around camp. A well-oiled machine with only one kink in the gears.

Ed. What a waste of space, sperm, and food that man was. He manages to make Billie's blood boil and freeze over at the same time, what with his constant glaring and 'do nothing, receive everything' attitude.

"Mind yer own fuckin' business, live longer that way." That's what she had been told after her first week with the group, after Merle had dragged her ass out of the woods laughing and swearing under his breath about scaring off all the deer within a mile radius. If not for the constantly reappearing bruises on both his wife Carol's thin frame and the even smaller Sophia, Billie just might have been able to put that advice to use. Ironically enough, that is also what manages to keep her loud trap shut. That broken woman was the first on the list to receive retribution for any one of them poking the bear as it were.

The man in question is currently doing what he does best, staring. Or "watchin' the women" as he might put it.

_Jackass_

Only more reason to get these stupid clothes off the line and get done with the tedious, but necessary, task.

"Mom!" Carl approaches swiftly, stopping before bouncing against the legs of his mother Lori, the unofficial official matriarch of the group. The tone of his voice is not worrisome, T-Dog and Glenn's head snapping up from their position atop the RV regardless.

"Shane says he's gonna show me how to clean the guns." Blue eyes sparkle above freckled cheeks, the excitement of doing a 'big boy' task clearly overwhelming to the little boy. Billie is somewhat envious; the most lethal thing they had _allowed_ her to touch since arriving was her **own** arrows as she handed them off to Daryl. He'd all but confiscated them after their first meeting, his eyes nearly widening to a normal level at the sight of ammo suitable for his crossbow. He did let her keep the scrunchie.

_Bastard_

"You be careful now. Listen to everything Shane tells you and don't mess around with anything loaded." Lori chides, ruffling her son's dark hair. The woman's trust in that man is unquestionable, as is the general attitude of the group.

The ex-cop was an easy pick for leader, and already well established by the time Billie came around. He'd been mistrustful at first; she was after all some stray that Merle Dixon of all people had plucked out of the wild, with a mangy mutt companion to match. It didn't take long for the woman to prove herself harmless, not that she wasn't working on that particular attitude. Lopping off her hair and carrying around an, albeit empty, bow was a decent start. She had even improved her form within the last two weeks, exhausting through a few make-shift arrows carved from wood deemed too damp to use for the fire. Without proper materials though, the projectiles were nowhere near accurate enough to develop upon her aim. You had to take what you could get these days. Small miracles and whatnot.

Merle had offered his assistance in the matter, repeatedly. The idea of the burly man's hands freely directing over any part of her body was hardly appealing, decent aim or not. Daryl was really the obvious first choice in that department, his 'I give a shit' attitude derailing any sort of request for assistance however.

"Hey Billie," A hand snapping in her face draws her from her daze, "We've been standing here for five minutes. I think that one is already dry now." Amy laughs at her sister's obvious reflection, Andrea's remarkable blue eyes glinting with a hint of mischief.

"Laugh it up, I'll still be done before you." Billie returns, wagging a finger at the young woman. She folds yet another pair of still slightly stained jeans over her forearm.

"So Andrea, about tomorrow," Billie casts a quick glance to Amy, careful in her choice of words, "They've got a solid plan right? In and out, no fuss."

"Glenn's still a little nervous about bringing along such a large group into the city, but yea, that's the general idea." She too looks over to her sister as well, "We'll be back in no time, and Billie will keep an eye on you." The end of that sentence goes unspoken, it doesn't need to. The statement is clearly evident in the gaze that Andrea returns to Billie.

_If I don't come back_

Billie nods, forcing a reassuring smile at the concerned wrinkle of Amy's forehead. It is simply too hard to look the girl in the eyes without cracking in her resolve. The rest of the chore is finished in an uncomfortable silence, the reality of their situation once again slapping at them hard across the face.

It is just after one now according to timekeeper Dale. The high sun seems to reassure the fact, a perfect time to lie back in the shade and maybe carve out another batch of practice arrows. Billie falls into a heap at her usual tree somewhere along the outside of the perimeter, her single person shelter not far off.

She whistles twice, calling Norman to her side. He stops for a moment, cocking his head to the side curiously as he stares back at her. She should really know better by now, damn dog never follows a command. The pile of sticks she had started on two days ago still lies bundled at the base of the tree, most already sharpened to a fine enough point to shred through its cloth target. An old shirt of Merle's too bloody and torn to wear, even for him. Not that he had **exactly** lent the thing to her in the first place, but he sure wasn't missing it.

Her stomach growls at the thought of the man, mentally praying that they would be successful on today's quick hunt. They weren't going to bring back much, what with Merle tagging along for tomorrow's supply run along with Glenn, Andrea, Jacqui, T-Dog and Morales. Not enough time in one day for them to track down some large game like a deer or a hog. Still, a hungry girl can dream.

Reaching into her back pocket, Billie removes the hidden switchblade tucked safe beneath the sweat rag she also let hang from it. Shane could bitch and moan about proper training all he wants, she knew how to use a fucking knife.

She sets a slow pace for herself. A task to distract from the pangs of an empty stomach is better left prolonged. It was selfish to whine about, she knew this. What claim does she have to any food brought back by another's hand? That the brothers share the fruit of their labor with a group of people too afraid to talk to them is a Godsend.

Billie bites her lip, ever more fervent in the task of teaching herself something useful. Something that someday might allow her to contribute to the well-being of these people trying so desperately to endure. A clean change of clothes is hardly going to keep your mind sharp and legs moving.

Her arms work fervently over the bend of her knees, notching small divots at the end of each projectile to hold against the bow's string. She doesn't bother with fletching, never does. These were merely for practice, and learning how to craft them from hand is clear out of her skill set. Again, something Daryl would know but be reluctant to share.

_Fucker_

"What's that?" The voice is so quiet Billie is almost sure for a moment that it came from her imagination, the small shadow of Eliza Morales the only proof as to otherwise. The girl clings tightly to the rag doll at her chest, naturally curious large brown eyes watching the knife move over the wood.

"This?" Billie wags the finished arrow between two fingers, "It's an arrow, I use it with this bow over here."

"What for?" A quick peek over her shoulder reveals Sophia also standing behind her friend, pinching at the ends of her hair nervously. Billie smiles while getting up onto her feet.

"Well, a lot of things. I can use it to get food, and it can also help keep us safe-"

"From the monsters?" Sophia finally pipes up. A flash of sadness passes over Billie's eyes, even more so when the girl glances back to her father hovering agonizingly close over Carol's shoulder. Billie waves the shy child closer, hunching over to speak quietly to the pair.

"Especially from the monsters." She nods back over her shoulder, signaling to the torn shirt pinned to a low branch, "Wanna see?" Both girls nod enthusiastically. Little boys weren't the only ones that could learn how to fight back.

Billie snatches the hunting bow from its spot near the tent, signaling the girls to follow with the other hand full of improvised arrows. Aside from the occasional inquisitive glances from some of the others, she never really performed in front of an audience before, never given the chance to see if she would shake under pressure.

"Alright ladies!" Billie announces while turning to face her giggling company, "Prepare yourself for amazement." She winks at the children, lining her feet up in the manner she has come to know as most comfortable and efficient. Her left foot points out towards her intended target, the right staggering back and squaring off.

Raising the bow to eye level, she lines up the shot. A brief tang of guilt racks through her mind, the memory of her mother's death still fresh from the faintly recollected dream still playing about in her head.

The arrow releases and snags against the corner of the fabric before bouncing off the tree behind it. Billie frowns, turning to look at the two little girls reactions.

"Hmm…well that wasn't very good was it?" They simultaneously shake their heads, Billie reaching down to grab another wooden bolt and settle it against the drawstring. She digs her feet deeper into the dirt, letting one long breath out with pinched lips.

"Your arms too low." The clearly male voice almost causes her to waste yet another arrow. A calloused hand grips at the elbow drawn back behind her, forcing it awkwardly up to a position where her hand rests right just below her ear.

"An' spread your legs out more, you're too stiff." Daryl's tan boots kicks out at her left leg, doing just as he commands and spreading her stance. Billie doesn't look back, but she can clearly feel the heat of his gaze as he paces around her, evaluating every embarrassing inch of her incorrectly self-taught form.

"Nah! Your hips are all wrong." Billie receives no warning before she receives a sharp smack from the length of an actual arrow at the right side of her hip. She yelps, more out of surprise than pain, still aware enough not to let the string loose between her fingers.

"Relax that elbow girl!" Another thwack, this one her arm holding the bow, causes Billie to snarl at the man still lurking just outside her peripheral vision.

"I swear to God Dixon, you hit me again-" Billie flinches as the arrow hits her lower back. She doesn't need to see his face to know he is smiling that crooked half smile of his.

"You tighten those back muscles when you're 'bout ready to shoot." Daryl stops pacing, apparently satisfied with his given level of instruction and abuse. This had been what she wanted, wasn't it? Maybe with a bit less bruising, but one cannot really choose to be picky, even more so now.

Billie exhales, doing as instructed and constricting her back muscles before sending the crude arrow soaring through the air, careful to remain in the admittedly uncomfortable form Daryl practically beat her into.

_Butthead_

With a bittersweet smile, she watches as the wood slices through the worn shirt with ease, the accuracy exceptionally better even with the shoddy construction in which it had been crafted.

"Son of a bitch," Billie mutters, turning to face Daryl's surely cocky but well deserving smirk. She is only met with the back of his head however, a hand running through his brown hair and across the back of his neck as he stomps off quietly to his tent. It only figures the redneck wouldn't wait around to see the result of his assistance, what did he care? He has already done more than is ever expected by bringing back a long rope of squirrel to share with the rest of the group. Last thing he needs is to be roped into teaching an inexperienced city girl how to shoot straight.

Billie gnaws against the side of her cheek, unable to look away from his retreating back. Daryl is such a rough character to figure out, not that she is some kind of shrink or something. Merle is an open book; every trait might as well be tattooed all over his dopey face, if not for it spewing from his mouth in some form of racism or sexism every time he speaks. As for Daryl, he is always so reserved, so quiet. Every now and then she would catch him staring at the others in camp, or even herself, the look on his face almost desperate for acceptance from someone else other than his own kin. He reminds her of a beaten dog, easy to snap at any hand while at the same time begging for affection.

"Hey Daryl!" His head turns to the side to watch her in his peripheral vision, her lip still tucked between her teeth, "Thanks for that." He nods once, tossing the length of dead squirrels onto the lain out tarp while wrenching open the flap to his tent and disappearing inside. Billie smiles to herself stupidly, the thrill of advancement in her archery skill worth any sort of awkwardness with a Dixon.

The girls, who had been quiet throughout the entire scene, shuffle behind her and draw her attention. Sophia looks especially nervous, eyes darting a mile a minute between Billie's bow and Daryl stalking around his camp brandishing a large knife.

"You said that would fight monsters," She observes quietly, "He was hittin' you, why didn't you use it?" Billie's eyes go wide at the accusation. She couldn't really blame the girl, all she knew was the sight of her father beatin' on her poor mother, and likely herself.

"You think Daryl's a monster?" Sophia glances over to the man to assure his disinterest, then nods vehemently. Billie sighs heavily, taking a step to the girl and placing a hand upon her shoulder.

"Sophia, unless you're a squirrel, you have nothin' to worry about with Daryl." This cracks a smile on the girl's worried demeanor, "He was just messin' around, didn't actually hurt me." Billie bends her arm back and forth to emphasize her point. She can tell the girl is not thoroughly convinced, and maybe she really shouldn't be. It is after all the general consensus of the group that both Dixon boys were anything but gentle. Though Billie could hardly believe that Daryl would be the one out of the two to ever lash out physically. Without good reason of course, but never at a child.

"Hey, why don't you girls go wrangle up Norman for me? Hell will freeze over before that dog will listen to anythin' I say." Eliza smiles widely at Sophia before grabbing her hand and the pair of them running off towards the aforementioned hound, prancing around like he owns the damn forest. Still crouched on one knee, Billie watches them run away with a sad smile. How horrible this new world has to be for the children of the camp, especially one who had lived in their own personal Hell before the dead even began to rise. Billie was lucky to be able to draw upon the happy memories of her childhood to keep her sane, many of the adults were. These kids would only be able to remember death and fear, with only a few moments of brief levity. How fucked up and twisted that order of events have worked themselves out.

Billie can feel the heat of someone's gaze on her back, her head turning to see Daryl's blue eyes unflinching away from hers. She isn't sure if he had heard her conversation with Sophia, not farfetched given the proximity of their two tents. If he had, it's easy to read the subtle expression of surprise etched on his pinched expression. He can't very well have had many people defend his humanity, not with that silent rage vibe he gave off almost constantly.

Billie nods once before turning to enter her tent, an unspoken yet equally understood communication of recognition passing between them.

_A/N: Thank you Emberka-2012 for the review! Also thanks to the person who reviewed as a guest…you know who you are. Hope I introduced some of the Atlanta survivors well, we'll definitely be seeing a lot more of them. Also got some lovely, arrow whacking interaction between Daryl and Billie here, hopefully you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it._


	3. Hello Neighbor

_People are strange, when you're a stranger_

_Faces look ugly, when you're alone_

_Women seem wicked, when you're unwanted_

_Streets are uneven, when you're down_

_When you're strange, faces come out of the rain_

_When you're strange, no one remembers your name_

_When you're strange_

_People Are Strange ~ The Doors_

"What I wouldn't give for a nice, cold beer right about now." Dale sighs, reclining farther back into the lawn chair. Billie cocks a brow from her standing position beside him.

"Yea?" She flicks the brim of his floppy hat, forcing his eyes to meet hers, "Never figured you for the sort, always seemed more like a wine man." Dale shrugs, adjusting the rifle strung across his back.

"Hey now, I was all sorts of the wild, good ol' southern boy back in the day." He scratches at the thick white beard at his chin, his thoughts probably stuck in a bar somewhere from his early 20s. Billie always likes taking watch with the elder ex-salesman. If he isn't reminiscing about some story from his past, he always has a good observation or two to make a person really flex some of those brain muscles.

"Right, next thing you'll be askin' to bum some smokes and where the nearest strip club is." Dale's sly smile speaks volumes, Billie shoving him playfully in the shoulder.

"You're a dirty old man Dale." Billie raises the binoculars hanging from her neck up to her eyes, shifting her focus to the dirt road leading up to their camp. Much less disturbing to watch for zombies on the trail than to think about an old man getting a lap dance.

It's just after dusk, a bit of the sun still barely holding on against the horizon. Everyone slated for tomorrow's supply run is already asleep in their corresponding shelter, the rest of the group now finishing off the day's chores and such. The smell of cooked meat is just starting to waft across Billie's nostrils, a quick glance to the fire pit proving her suspicions with Lori and Amy assembling what they could for tonight's meal. On the menu, charred squirrel with a side of berries and some other plant deemed edible, just barely.

"You can head on down if you want, I got things covered up here." Dale having obviously taken notice of Billie's shift in focus shoos her off with a brush of his hand. She doesn't move, once again taking up the binoculars and doing a sweep across the dense Georgia forest.

"Nah, I'll let them at it first. I'll head down in a few to get us whatever's left." She can feel Dale's hand pat against her elbow in a manner of admiration. Her bow, still empty and slung crookedly across her torso, pinches her neck as she shifts slightly away, it serving little purpose other than personal reassurance.

That one fire pit isn't the only one lit in camp. Ed, Carol, and Sophia all sit quietly around their own personal fire, a decision forced upon them by the dickhead who smacks his wife no doubt. The Dixon's also have their setup going, Daryl left alone to tend to it as Merle is probably already passed out in the tent. His choice to fall asleep early is probably drug fueled, Merle's little "problem" the worst kept secret in camp. That, and Shane and Lori's sudden, almost constant, need for privacy.

"You're miles away Billie." Dale's voice shakes her from her stupor, not noticing she has the binoculars now hovering awkwardly at nose level.

"Oh, sorry." Billie rubs a tired hand over her face, "Just thinkin' about some of our associates down there."

"I'm not much for gossiping." Dale informs, the response in the form of Billie's very noticeable eye roll. She crouches to sit down, letting her legs hang off the edge of the RV.

"I swear Dale, it's almost like you do these things on purpose." She jokes, leaning back onto the palms of her hands. For a moment she lets her gaze shift up to the stars, the lack of surrounding light making the heavens light up like a Christmas tree. She tries to find a recognizable constellation, making note that she never had made time to do that in the past. The one good thing to come out of this mess seems to be the sudden appreciation of the beauty of the world around them, minus the walking corpses and all.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to know anythin' about stars?" Billie glances to the older man, his gaze too focusing on the sky above.

"Hmm, well I'm not an expert, but I think that one is Orion." Dale points skyward, Billie's eyes following to an indistinguishable bundle of stars. She squints, as if somehow that will make the lights fall into place magically.

"I don't see it." Billie huffs in frustration while dragging her legs up into her arms. Dale shrugs, his gaze returning to the camp's surroundings.

"Like I said, not an expert." Dale smirks at her, chin still protruding out as she strains to make out the pattern, "Let me know if you see any Walker constellations up there." Her head snaps down to shoot a scowl straight at him.

"Hilarious. I'm goin' to get some damn food." Billie unwinds the rope from her neck and stuffs the binoculars into Dale's pliant hands, turning to head down the ladder and making sure to stick her tongue out childishly before disappearing from view. His warm laughter follows her down, a smile cracking on her lips despite her best efforts to remain stoic.

She turns towards the group's main fire pit, her best bet for gathering enough food for both herself and Dale.

"The fuck?" Daryl curses as she nearly collides into him. He doesn't make eye contact as she stumbles back against the RV, her back falling flat against it.

"Shit, sorry Daryl. Didn't see you." She runs a hand awkwardly through her knotted hair, uncomfortable with this level of proximity. Her skin still somewhat stings in the spots he had so carefully attended to, what with his little instructional interference.

"Whatever." He mumbles, brushing past her without another word. He is heading straight towards the almost pitch black shadow of the woods, no weapon in sight on his usually well-armed body.

"Where you goin?" Billie calls out, curious as to what might have the usually well-prepared man stomping off into the unknown without so much as a pointy stick. Daryl stops to face the woman, his eyes locking with hers in a way that makes her breath hitch.

"Fuck woman, I'm takin' a piss. You writin' a book?" He growls, returning to his previous destination. Billie raises her hands in a defenseless manner, unable to stop the brief laughter. She once again turns to walk towards the source of dinner, the idea of Daryl walking off by himself giving her pause. Not that the man can't fend for himself out there, he's spent more than a couple nights in the woods alone. His lack of weaponry does make her nervous however. She does somewhat owe the brothers for saving her ass in the first place.

Billie falls against the RV again, an ear to the wind for the faintest hint of unwelcome shuffling or hungry groans. Her face nearly catches fire at the distinct sound of a solid stream of urine hitting the side of a tree.

"I need a new hobby." She muses quietly to herself, fingers tugging idly at the loose hem of her shirt. It only takes a minute; long enough for Billie to feel like a total creep regardless of knowing full well the good intentions that force her to stay. A second later and Daryl is walking back towards camp, his hands fumbling with the button of his pants before he spots her leaning back against the vehicle.

He cocks an eyebrow at her, his fingers frozen in place at the waistband of his ratty jeans.

"You waitin' for a show honey? The hell you standin' 'round for?" Daryl jabs an accusatory finger in her direction.

"Oh you know, just getting some new material for my book." Billie shrugs while pushing off from the back of the RV. Daryl doesn't seem to find this amusing, his eyes still watching her with a cautious curiosity.

"I was just keepin' an eye out, relax. Last thing you need is some corpse walkin' in on you with your pants down." She turns her back to him, waving him off casually as she walks into the brighter side of camp.

Lori offers a friendly greeting as Billie enters the encircled group, Carl tucked beneath her arm while Shane looks on from the opposite end. She falls into the seat beside Amy, a plate already being offered before she even gets the chance to settle.

"Thanks." She accepts the food with a smile. Glancing over her shoulder she catches Daryl stalking back to his own camp, gnawing against his thumbnail as he so often does when deep in thought. She is both too hungry and tired to try and guess what his problem is this time, the urge to dive into her plate face first held at bay by her current company.

She does manage to remember the second mouth dependant on her, whistling softly to alert the sleeping dog lying near the entrance of the RV. Norman's head perks up instantaneously, the scent of food bringing him running. Of course **now** he would listen to her.

"That'll do pig." Billie breaks off a piece of the meat, offering it with an open palm to the dog's greedy mouth. He slobbers all over her, nothing she isn't used to already.

"You're good with him." Lori observes, brushing back her sons hair absentmindedly, "Did you work with animals before?" It's a question almost everyone in camp has been asked. Like it somehow even matters what position any of them held back when the dead stayed dead.

"No, I was the marketing director for a potato chip company actually." Billie digs into the remainder of her meal, Norman's head resting atop her knee and soaking it with drool, "Norman was my parent's dog, got him about two years back. Never bothered trainin' the slob to do anythin' other than to sit." She ruffles the dog's head, also letting him lick the traces of the meager meal from her fingers.

"He's a cutie though." Amy adds in, also scratching at his thick coat.

"Yea, I guess." Norman seems to sense the conversation revolving around him, one of his dark eyes peeking open to look up at Billie, "He's not a complete lost cause, still might be able to drag some usefulness outta him." Finishing every trace of food, Billie fills her now empty plate with another helping to bring up to Dale. She bids the rest of the group goodnight before returning towards the RV ladder.

She manages to make it partially up the ladder one handed, settling the plate on the edge to brace both hands against the rung. A hand at her calf has her heart stopping, immediately expecting a rotted face to be staring right back up at her as her head snaps down to look.

"Damn it Daryl! I thought you were one of them." She turns and lets her forehead fall against the wall of the RV, silently attempting to regulate her racing heartbeat. Daryl's face, covered in dirt, doesn't look up towards her. He doesn't maintain eye contact either, just reaches back and pulls two arrows from the quiver of his crossbow.

"Here." He holds the two bolts up for her to take. Billie stays silent, deciding it better to just accept the offer with no questions asked. He'd probably take off like a frightened deer if she were even to acknowledge this act of kindness. She grabs hold of the returned arrows with a nod of thanks. He doesn't nod back per usual, just grumbles something unintelligible beneath his breath.

"Don't fuckin' waste 'em." He states in a much clearer tone before once again stomping off towards his camp. The smooth fiberglass material is warm to the touch as she fingers the length of it. God knows how long he was holding onto the things before he managed to decide to hand them over.

"Billie, is that you back there?" Dale's voice calls out, the hint of worry in his voice making her feel somewhat guilty for lingering.

"Yea, just bringing you up some food. Be right there." She shoves the arrows through the empty belt loop of her pants, twisting them around twice to assure their temporary hold. She could fashion a proper carrier for them tomorrow, for now she needs to focus her attention on keeping watch alongside Dale. On the off chance something manages to stagger it's way all the way up here, she even has something to do at it beside wave her arms around like a madwoman.

OOO

The supply run is already underway by the time Billie wakes up the next morning. Norman whines begrudgingly as she nudges him awake beside her, peeling her once again sweaty limbs from the confines of the sleeping bag.

"Come on boy, we've wasted enough of the day sleeping in." She pats his bottom, "About time we make ourselves useful." Billie fishes out a clean t-shirt and shorts from her pack, also grabbing one of the few remaining bottles of water she has left.

"Shit." She mumbles beneath her breath, noticing the small tear at the corner of the messenger bag that contains the entirety of her belongings. She is going to have to ask one of the other women to sew that up for her, Carol most likely. With any luck, Ed will be too busy obsessing over his dwindling supply of rations to be shadowing his wife today.

The overcast skies relay the group's sour mood, the idea of people so close to them having to go into the zombie infested city weighing heavy on everyone's shoulders. It doesn't take long to find Carol at her usual post, head down at her trusty ironing board. Billie walks over to her with pack in hand.

"Morning Carol," She greets, offering a warm smile to the older woman's sad, blue eyes, "I found this rip at the bottom of my bag, was wonderin' if you got some spare time you could patch it up for me?" She lifts up the warm water bottle from earlier, shaking it with enthusiasm.

"Got a nice, tasty bottle of water in it for ya." Carol smiles weakly at Billie's offer while reaching for the bag.

"Of course, I can have it done probably before dinner." She looks over her shoulder, Billie's eyes follow to see a shaken Sophia nearly running from their tent, Ed not far behind.

"Carol," Billie's fingers dig into her palm at the sight of the small bruises lining the length of the little girl's left arm, "Oh fuck no." She takes two long steps towards the bastard before Carol's hand is at her shirt, tugging her back desperately.

"Please don't! It will just make it worse." She whispers, eyes tearing up as she looks frantically back at the cause of her pain. Billie can only sigh as she untangles the woman's hand from her clothes.

"I can't…this isn't right Carol! You have to know that." Carol only lowers her head in shame, no longer able to maintain eye contact. Billie rubs a hand roughly over her face, making sure to take two deep breaths before addressing the fragile woman again. She can't begin to relate to her situation. Stuck in a world of constant uncertainty, the only safe haven turning out to be just another endless level of Hell.

"I'm sorry, I can't just sit around and-" The sound of the CB radio has everyone stopping in his or her tracks, all eyes turning to the crackling object located in the center of camp.

"Hello? Can anybody hear my voice?" Amy nearly trips over her own feet to run to the radio, Billie's own feet dragging her towards the scene without a thought.

"Hey, hello?" She clutches the radio as if it were about to fly away.

"Can you hear my voice?" The male voice is barely audible behind the harsh static, a crowd forming around regardless. This is the most recent contact many of them have had with the world outside of the secluded camp.

"Yes! I can hear you, you're coming through, over."

"Can anybody…please respond." Billie glaces over to Dale now standing next to her, the dark realization plaguing over both their features. He can't hear her, the radio isn't going through.

"Broadcasting on….approaching Atlanta on highway…." Amy's panicked face looks back to Billie for support, her unable to do anything but shake her head solemnly. It's one thing for a portion of their group to go into the city, they knew what to expect, but this poor bastard is going to be running in blind.

"We're just outside the city," Amy fiddles with the radio, now emitting nothing but loud static, "Damn it!" Placing a hand against the young woman's shoulder, Billie reaches down to remove the microphone from her hand.

"It's not use, he's out of our range. No use wastin' the battery." She knows she must sound harsh, but when has the truth ever been sensitive? The incident with Carol still runs hot through her veins, now coupled with the unavoidable fate of this mystery man. Today is hardly starting off well for the woman, the heel of her boot digging into the dirt while trying to find something to look at.

"Where's Shane? That boy knows better than the rest of us how to work that thing." Dale pulls his hat from his head, fanning himself with it. He would be the one to hold onto some semblance of hope.

"He went off with Lori in the woods, I think they were going to try and find some more mushrooms." Amy replies, gathering the bundle of sticks she had dropped in her previous haste. Billie rolls her eyes, much to Dale's reproachful gaze.

"Or _something_." She mumbles, uncaring of any looks coming from the old man. For someone who disapproves of being so judgmental, he sure does do a fair bit of it himself.

"So what, we just let him go into the city? He's got no idea what he's walking into!"

"I'd try smoke signals, but I'm not sure what the universal sign of 'Geek Central' is." Billie smirks, unable to stop the reflexive route of sarcasm to try and lighten the mood. Unsurprisingly, no one else seems to find it too funny.

"We should've put a sign up on the road weeks ago." Dale clearly just ignores her immature remark, far too used to her sometimes dark sense of humor to let it bother him.

"Well even so, not much we can do about it now." She's not sure if her crappy mood is the cause of such blatant disregard for another human's life, but Billie does take a moment to recognize the sudden shift in her character. Dale shakes his head in obvious disappointment, either in her or the helplessness of their situation, she isn't too sure. Sure as hell makes her feel a bit more like shit though.

"Damn shame," Dale replaces the hat onto his bald head, "With any luck he'll run into our group out there. They'll be able to help him." Unlikely, but Billie nods her head anyway. Hope is really all that keeps them going when it comes down to it. Hope for a safer place, for the chance to find lost loved ones, to live to see tomorrow.

Billie had lost her hope the moment she lit that match and threw it onto her mother's dead body. No siblings to cling onto for support, no extended family nearby to search for. All she has left is Norman, him and the basic human instinct for survival.

These people are good, too good to be living a life of constant fear. If anything is driving her to keep on, it is the idea that just maybe she is here for a reason. To save a life, to end one. She isn't going to pretend to know the answer to that doozy of a question.

For now, she decides to just focus on the last promise made to the ashes of her mother. As good of a goal as any to keep her alive and fighting.

_A/N: Just a brief bit of Daryl in this chapter. I know, it sucks. This chapter was mainly to introduce the types of relationships Billie has formed with some of the others, along with her earned role within that group. On the plus side, she is definitely forming a bit of a silent trust between herself and our favorite redneck. A bit of "you'll watch my back, I'll watch yours"? Lets just hope poor Daryl doesn't get too distracted back there! (Woot woot for obscure Dragon Age Origins references!) I'm sure you all recognize some of the conversation used here, but to keep things original I did take some creative liberties with that scene. As I will with many of the already established parts of The Walking Dead universe. Thank you again Emberka-2012 for the review, very much appreciate it. Glad to see you're in as well LadyLecter47, make yourself comfortable. Another thanks to those of you who have followed the story, hope you enjoy the ride!_


	4. Hero Complex

_You called me strong, you called me weak_

_But still your secrets I will keep_

_You took for granted all the times I never let you down_

_You stumbled in and bumped your head_

_If not for me then you'd be dead_

_I picked you up, put you back on solid ground_

_Kryptonite ~ 3 Doors Down_

A staring match against Daryl Dixon is like disarming a bomb. Move the wrong way, or make the wrong choice, and you sure as hell aren't walking away from that encounter intact.

Billie is currently taking her chances against the younger brother. She doesn't see why not, nothing much else to do in camp at the moment. The excitement from the mystery man over the radio had died down over an hour ago, leaving everyone to their own devices. It just happens that Billie's chosen device is playing chicken against Daryl.

She is seated beneath her usual tree, one of the properly crafted arrows tapping against the toe of her boot. Daryl on the other hand, is working on something worthwhile. Dead squirrels and other small game outline the border of his camp, strung up in a fucked up vision of personal décor. He works fervently to strip the meat from yesterday's hunt, preserving every worthwhile scrap before he leaves for his next one later today.

He doesn't maintain eye contact for long, but it is obvious he is fully aware of her unwavering gaze on him. The tense shoulders and constant scowl are like a neon sign to his discomfort. It's only a matter of time before that string will snap, the sick pleasure that comes along with it causing Billie to once again question her mental stability these days.

Deciding to press her luck, Billie whistles twice, the sound clear and sharp across the dead silence of the campsite. Its effect is immediate; Daryl's head perking up like a scared rabbit.

"You got somethin' you wanna say?" He stabs the knife he is using into the ground, damn near throwing the freshly gutted animal along with it. His eyes blink rapidly, arms draping over each of his bent knees and mirroring her position.

"You know," Billie ignores his question and taps the arrow tip to her temple, "I had this horse when I was thirteen, angry son of a bitch. Threw me almost every time I tried to ride him." Daryl looks thoroughly unimpressed; his teeth at his bottom lip probably the only thing keeping him from lashing out.

"My parent's offered to get me a different horse, but I was stubborn. Completely convinced I'd be the one to tame him," She moves the arrow tip to her exposed clavicle, "That's how I got this." A crooked scar runs the length of the left side of her chest, the cold metal tracing the curve. Daryl's eyes also follow the imperfection, hesitant as it ends at the top of her breast.

"Jackass kicked me, had to get four pins and a plate just to move my arm again." Daryl's cobalt eyes return to hers as his thumb finds its familiar place at his lips.

"There a point to this story, 'sides you bein' dumb enough to be walkin' behind a damn horse?"

"Not particularly, no." She kicks a leg out, grinning idiotically at the confused look stuck on Daryl's face.

"Damn it woman, I ain't got time for this shit." He throws his arms up in defeat as he stomps off towards his tent, nearly ripping the thing apart as he climbs inside. Billie continues to smile regardless.

"I win." She sighs beneath her breath, letting her head fall back against the tree and her eyes to shut. She is probably going to be paying for that little stunt for the next few days to come, totally worth it though.

Soft footfalls catch Billie's attention from the left side, her eyes remaining shut. The Geeks are much noisier, hardly aware of the sound of their haggard shuffling or emotionless moans.

"Hey." the sad voice of Amy causes Billie to crack an eye open hesitantly.

"What's up Amy, Lori need help startin' up the pit already?" Lord help the lanky woman, but campfires are not her specialty. Even with a lighter she can never manage to get a bundle going for longer than a few seconds, leaving the task to fall onto Billie's shoulders. She wasn't a smoker, but a Zippo sure seemed like a good resource to grab before leaving her mother's.

"No, at least, I don't think so." Amy fidgets nervously with her hands, glancing off towards the city's skyline, "It's getting late. They should have been back by now." Of course that would be the source of the girl's worry, not that Billie can blame her. Andrea isn't even that close to her, and even still she found herself frequently anxious about the friendly woman's fate throughout the agonizingly long day.

"They're fine, and it really isn't that late. I'm sure they'll be back in another hour or two." Amy doesn't look at all convinced, not that Billie is entirely very convincing. What with her lip stuck between her teeth and hands wringing at the fiberglass shaft like a wet rag. She follows Amy's eyes to the horizon, the graying clouds casting a foreboding darkness across the Atlanta landscape.

"Hey, come here." Billie jumps from her spot at the base of the tree at the first sign of tears at the young woman's eyes, cradling the back of her head as she gently pulls her in for a hug. Amy's arms loop around each of her shoulders, the comforting act enough to send the blonde spiraling into a frenzy of emotions.

Billie can only pat her head, murmuring soft hushes to try and calm the sobbing girl. From over her shoulder, she can see Daryl re-emerge from his tent with crossbow in tow. He looks furious at first, his stare softening as soon as he sees the two women embracing one another. It's pretty easy to see a similar conflict brewing beneath his own gaze as Billie holds eye contact. Amy isn't the only one with a sibling risking both life and limb out there, not that Daryl will ever come running over for a shoulder to cry on about it.

He seems to contemplate something before turning in a fury towards the intimidating forest. Hunting, that is how a Dixon copes with worry, taking it all out on the poor woodland critters of the land with an arrow and a big ass knife.

"Listen, you got to be strong now girl. You can't let the others see when you crack, cause that'll just start a domino effect. There's children here with their daddy out there, we gotta be strong for them so they don't start to worry too." Billie pulls Amy back by the shoulders, forcing her blue eyes to focus on her stern face, "I know you're strong Amy, you can do this." This seems to be the reality check the girl needs, her eyes darting once to the small Morales children before focusing again on Billie with a curt nod.

"You're right, God I'm being so selfish." She wipes her tearstained cheeks with the sleeve of her borrowed sweater. Sure, making the crying girl feel guilt over her own human emotions does leave a bad taste in Billie's mouth, but the weak get taken in this world. This girl, barely out of high school no doubt, is going to have to learn that lesson real quick, even if it comes by the way of even more negativity. Better that then by the hands of the undead.

"Why don't you go to the RV and lie down for a bit. I bet by the time you wake up Andrea will already be back and bitchin' to you about dirty dishes or somethin'." Amy laughs somewhat forcibly, looking back to the group of kids kicking around an old soccer ball.

"No, I think I'll go see if Lori or Carol needs any help. I think they were planning on going over some lesson plans for the kids tomorrow." With one more wipe of the oversized sleeve she trudges back up the small hill. Billie isn't quite sure when she turned into such an honest source of guidance, although she always did have a tough time keeping her opinions to herself. This isn't the best gift to have however, especially in circumstances such as a mother getting humped in the woods when she should be watching her child, or a husband smacking his own wife cause she stops him from touching their own daughter.

It's pretty clear to her at the moment just why Daryl chooses to go out hunting during these stressful times. The urge to shoot something is almost maddening.

She may not want to admit it, but watching the scruffy looking redneck walk out into the woods alone always sits like a dead weight in the pit of Billie's stomach. The fact that he is likely to stay out there overnight does nothing to ease the feeling.

"Hey! T-Dog is coming through over the radio!" Dale's voice carries clear across to her at the edge of camp, all heads spinning to his typical location at the top of the RV. The obnoxious red and white striped umbrella is like a shining beacon to his presence, drawing all life towards it while the CB radio fizzles in the background.

"What'd he say?" Billie questions, not sure what else to do but rub at the back of her neck. Dale holds up a hand to signal for patience, using his other to hold the microphone to his lips.

"I'm getting a lot of static on this end, repeat!" Everyone by now is once again crowded around the old communications device. Dale had brought it up with him after the first incident, hoping for better signal at the elevated height. Apparently, that plan isn't working exactly as desired.

"We…can't...trapped in a department store. There's geeks…the place…" Despite full well knowing the dangers the city has to offer, the shared look of dread cannot be stopped as it passes from each of the group member's faces. Billie chances a glance to Amy at the forefront of the crowd. She can see the inner turmoil of their previous conversation all across her face, once again making her feel even lower than dog shit.

"T-Dog repeat that last, repeat." Dale is fiddling frantically with the knobs of the machine, desperate to hold onto their connection for as long as possible. Thunder rolls across the sky to the haunting melody of white noise on the speakers and proves his efforts futile.

"The department store? Is that what he said?" Billie glances to her surviving companions for reassurance. Lori nods, looking over to Shane with a telltale expression of determination.

"No, we're not risking any more people!" Shane is quick to retort, his stance defensive and ready for the fight about to come his way, "We do not send anyone else after them, we just don't have the resources." The thunder once again erupts in the distance, the irony of the storm also brewing below almost too creepy.

"So you're just going to leave her there?" Not surprisingly, Amy is the first to turn on their undeclared leader. He looks back at her with sadness, nervously rubbing at the brim of his baseball cap.

"I know this is hard for you-"

"Do you now? It's not like someone you care about is out there." Billie scoffs, the anger for this so-called 'officer of the law' finally boiling over. The gall of this man who preaches to look out for the betterment of others, yet continually puts his own needs at the head of the line. His dark eyes turn to her, the surprise and anger at being called out on almost causing Billie to bust out with laughter.

"I care about everyone in this group, they'd be dead if not for me." He is almost growling at her, his demeanor nor height advantage over her not in the least bit intimidating. If he were to actually try something, that would only further prove her point, and he knew that. All puffed up machismo and testosterone in dealing with only submissive women his whole life.

"Yet you'd write them off so easily? If that were Lori out there, you'd be raisin' a whole damn army to tear that place apart!" Shane looks about ready to punch her in the jaw, regardless of her gender or the opinions of the gathered audience. She raises her palms up in hopes of soothing his deteriorating control, while also taking a deep breathe to calm herself.

"Listen, I'm not suggestin' we do anythin' stupid, it's obvious we don't have the weapons we need to send in another group after them." Billie looks over to Amy beside her, strengthening her resolve, "Let me go in there." Shane bursts into laughter, ripping his hat from his head and running a hand through his thick black hair.

"That's not doin' somethin' stupid?" He raises an eyebrow at her while tilting his head in close, "You gonna take down a whole mob of walkers with two arrows and a knife there Rambo?"

"Don't mistake me for a dumbass Shane, I'm not suggestin' I go in guns blazin'." She pushes lightly against his shoulder to create distance, "I can draw them away from the group though, give them a chance to get a vehicle and get the hell outta there." He remains silent, enough of a reason for her to continue on with the layout of her plan.

"There's enough abandoned cars on the main road leadin' into the city. I can grab one of those, get the horn blarin' nice and loud to draw those lifeless bastards away from the store they're holed up in." Billie turns her attention up to Dale, looking none too pleased about the turn of events occurring beneath him, "Dale, you try to raise T-Dog on the CB again, let them know what's goin' on. If you can't, well they'll hear me drivin' by and figure out a good time to get the hell out on their own." Dead silence is the immediate response to her lain out strategy, not exactly the type of reaction she is aiming for. Shane just shakes his head disapprovingly, the rest of the group too surprised to do anything else besides gawk at the most recent addition to their group already throwing her life on the line for the sake of others.

"Billie you don't-" The choppy-haired brunette raises her hand at Amy's quiet protest. Her words are hollow. Of course she wants Billie to go in there, she'd take any offer to save the life of her only remaining family if she were sane.

"There's no point in arguin' about it, I'm gonna be goin' regardless." She locks eyes with Shane once more, "It's a good plan. In and out distraction, no weapons wasted and it can help get our people out safe. Don't let the tits fool you, I'm a pretty damn good driver." Her usual smirk graces her lips while Shane shakes his head disapprovingly at the twisted sense of humor. If this man knew anything about her, he would be able to recognize the telltale sign of a defense mechanism at play.

"If you're going into the city, you're taking this with you." Billie hadn't realized Dale moved from the RV until he is in her face, practically shoving the rifle that is usually at his back into her hands.

"You sure that's a good idea Dale?" Shane squints his eyes at the older man. Dale simply shrugs, his lack of desire to offer any explanation to this man clearly evident. Billie is too preoccupied with the heavy weapon in her hands to pay any mind to the continuing conversation. She had never handled a gun in her life, let alone a high-powered rifle likely to send her straight on her ass.

"This is really considerate, but I don't even know-"

"She ain't got no experience against these things! You're gonna get yourself killed, that's what you don't know." Shane's temper is like a viper, subtle until the point of attack and then wham, right in your face. He is wrong; Billie has had quiet a few encounters with those horrible creatures. None she wishes to share with the rest of the group, and thankfully no one asks. 'Who have you killed lately?' is still not a very good conversation starter, even with the Hell they live in and experience daily.

"I'll be fine." Billie replies coolly, flashing a reassuring smile at the Morales children crowded around their mother. If anything serves as further motivation to this rash decision of hers, it is the sight of those kids. She shoulders the rifle alongside her bow, the two arrows in her possession hanging loosely from the pillowcase turned quiver tied to her belt loop.

"So," She turns towards Dale, ignoring the seething looks of condemnation being seared into her back, "You wouldn't happen to have a map to this department store, would you?" The older man smiles sadly, shaking his head at the strong-willed woman. Billie snaps in a dramatic fashion to convey her disappointment.

"Ah well, I'll figure it out. Been livin' in the city for 6 years, guess it wont kill me to finally familiarize myself…hopefully." She pats both Dale and Amy on the shoulder as she passes by, making her way to the dirt path curving down the side of the encampment. Her boots hitting the ground is the only sound to pass amongst the others as they watch on. Out of all the mismatched people occupying this group, Billie is probably the least likely to appear as the one to be sent in as a rescue. With her denim shorts and gray t-shirt she looks better suited for a backyard barbeque.

As she passes the vehicle barricade, a sharp bark alerts her to Norman's sudden fast approach to follow.

"No boy, you're not gonna wanna come along for this one." Billie scolds to his apparent dislike, "You stay here with Amy. Keep an eye on her and the kids while I'm gone." Norman whines while sitting on the ground near her feet, making no clear plans of moving.

"I'm not kidding! You're not gonna like this." He remains fervent in his protest, his head tilting to the side in mock confusion. Billie rolls her eyes at the flamboyantly expressive hound.

"Fine, but I'm not carryin' your ass out if you get carsick again."

OOO

It takes over an hour for Billie to reach the crowded streets leading into Atlanta. Cars, along with other random signs of past human presence, litter the road making the path to her destination that much more difficult. She presses her hands deeper into the mud as she peers into the mess from her crouched position behind a tree.

"Son of a bitch." She mutters, fingers drumming against the bare skin of her knees. The opposite road usually used for those leaving the city is perfectly vacant, though the high rising median squashes any hopes of driving the car in that way. She is going to have to rough ride it.

Her eyes scan over the vehicles nearest to her, window-shopping for what will be her best option. The scuffed up mini-van is an immediate out, along with the flashy and heavy SUV. She needs a badass pickup truck like the ones in the commercials. Navigating through mountainous hillsides and rough backwoods like a metal cougar. This is Georgia! If she isn't able to find a pickup truck in a crowd of backed up Atlanta traffic, she might as well just sit on the ground and let one of those things put her out of her misery.

She smirks, patting Norman on the head as the black Dodge Ram glistens like diamonds about twenty feet away. Well, maybe not so much glistens as reflects sun from the scattered blood splatters running across the tailgate.

For all of his untrained, cowardly behavior, the dog has an uncanny ability to know when to remain silent. That beats being able to balance a treat on your nose any day of the week in Billie's book. He follows close behind as she stealthily moves across the forest edge and closer to their targeted truck. She fairs pretty well, until a long groan catches her off guard and sends her foot crashing into a loose pile of rocks. Looking up just in time to see the tall, casually dressed dead man, Billie snatches the bow at her back. Tangled in the strap of the rifle, it takes her an agonizing second to remove the weapon, all the while the lurking zombie shifting it's head around quizzically to find the source of the sudden noise.

"Fuck!" She groans as it comes loose, the dead eyes of the creature locking onto her location. The arrow slides out much quicker as she moves to line up her shot, careful to position her elbow correctly and to not hold tension even in her deeply bent legs. He is within arms length as the arrow slices up through the curve of his neck and into his skull. The close proximity makes for an easy shot despite the nerves racking throughout Billie's entire body.

"Come on girl, get it together." She whispers harshly to herself while wrenching the bloodied arrow from the unmoving corpse. Norman growls at the thing, deservedly so. She takes a breathless moment to wait for any of the Geek's possible remaining friends, arrow already notched as her eyes scan the pavement. Its fervent cries of hunger lust seem to have gone unnoticed. Billie whispers profanity-laced thanks to whatever deity is still listening and forgiving to her chosen path.

_What the **hell** am I doing out here?_

The question has already crossed her mind a few times in the last heart racing moments of this trip. She ignores it once more and pushes up from the ground to sprint the remaining dozen feet to the truck. When she finally does reach it she gladly lets her forehead drop flat against the window, taking a brief moment to slow her dizzying thoughts. Norman's bark cuts that second of relief to a steadfast halt.

Billie pulls up from the window to see the half rotted face of the fiend an instant too late. Its throat is ripped out, explaining the lack of noise made and stealth before coming around the bend of the truck's front end. Elongated fingers reach out to snatch the ends of her hair, her own hands fumbling blindly at the back pocket of her shorts for the knife.

"No!" She screams, fighting against the immense tug against her skull and blinding pain of bits of skin and hair being yanked out. The pull of the hand at her head shifts suddenly, pulling her to the ground instantaneously. Falling into a heap with the decaying body of the once well-dressed businesswoman also curiously stops the struggle. She cautiously peeks at the gruesome face beneath her, the telltale shape of a large knife piercing through the skin of the dead woman's temple.

"What the-?" Billie tries to pull her head back to no avail. The grip of the Geek is still tangled in her hair despite it being no longer functional. She can only helplessly glance around at her surroundings, the view of the road's edge upside down as she searches for the source of her rescue.

Two tan work boots step into view, Billie's eyes having no choice but to follow up the length of the muddied pant legs.

"The hell you doin' out here girl?" Daryl's pinched eyes stare quizzically down at the hunched over form of the woman beneath him. Even inverted Billie can recognize the clear look of hilarity twitching at the side of the redneck's thin lips.

"Funny, I've been askin' myself that same question lately."

_A/N: Buck knife Daryl to the rescue! Another chapter down, plus they're getting longer so you know that's good. As always thank you all for taking the time to review and follow!_

_Glad you like Billie so far SaraLostInes, she's quite the sarcastic little bitch. Thanks Caffiend and Emberka, as for Daryl being such a "hands on" instructor, I dunno, just seemed like something he would do. Can't really picture him being all sensual and touchy feely like you sometimes read in other archer related stories. So yea, why not make him thwack the crap outta her! I think there might be something wrong with me sometimes…A story that involves Daryl is always gonna have to involve the rest of the band of misfit survivors, so I'm happy to see you agree with me on establishing connections LadyLecter!_


	5. The Fast and the Furious

To get a dream of life again

_A little vision of the start at the end_

_But all the choirs in my head sang_

_No oh oh_

_But I needed one more touch_

_Another taste of heavenly rush_

_And I believe, I believe it_

_So oh oh oh_

_Breath of Life ~ Florence + the Machine_

"You plannin' on helpin' me out down here, or you gonna just stand there and look pretty?" Billie takes another chance at tugging her head from the locked grip of the dead hand to no avail. Daryl seems to find this more entertaining than is probably healthy, falling back against the side of the truck as he crosses his ankles casually.

"Give me a minute." He stretches his sleeveless arms out against the tailgate, his face stoic despite the immense pleasure he surely is getting from this current situation. Billie groans and lets her ass fall down against her ankles. If she is going to be humiliated, might as well get comfy.

"Come on Daryl, this bitch stinks like ass!" She whines, turning her face in every which direction in an attempts to find the least smelly arrangement. For this Daryl takes pity on her. He walks over to the dead body and slides the knife out in one fluid pull.

"So what's it gonna be?" He holds the lifeless hand up, lining the edge of the knife to the hair entwined fingers, "Haircut or amputation?" The idea of walking around with a pair of decaying fingers on her head already makes her gag, her eyes narrowing at the mischievous quirk of Daryl's brow.

"Just cut the damn hair." Daryl obliges, shifting the knife to the tangled bits of hair while his other hand presses lightly against the top of her head. With one swift flick of his wrist she is freed along with a few inches of shorter hair on the right side of her head.

Billie rubs the raw part of her head soothingly, rolling her neck around to readjust to the more comfortable position. Her fingers trail down the now uneven cut of her already chopped up hair.

"Fantastic, now I can **really** pull of that lunatic vibe."

"S'not that bad." Daryl observes, wiping the blood and brain matter from his knife before setting it back in its holster. If Billie didn't know any better, she could swear Daryl just went out of his way to say something nice. Of course, this being the real world and anyone with the last name Dixon incapable of anything along the pretense of niceness, she is probably just reading too much into things.

Norman had fled beneath the truck at the sign of his companion under attack, his nose peeking out by Billie's feet as she sits back onto her heels and watches him.

"Useless." She points an accusatory finger at him before lulling him out with a comforting scratch at the ear. He obliges, his tail tucked firmly between his legs as he still looks around cautiously.

"You gonna tell me why you're wanderin' round out here?" Daryl is once again relaxing against the vehicle, the gaze usually reserved for Merle's antics now being lobbied her way. Billie is unsure how to respond.

"You first, thought you'd be intestine deep in some cute little bunny rabbit by now." She smirks fiendishly, still rubbing at the sore part of her skull.

"Was working on it, till I heard you stompin' round scarin' off every damn thing in the woods." Daryl crosses his arms over his chest, "Best be glad I did. You'd be goin' through that ugly bitch's intestines by now if I were huntin' in about a mile deeper." He sneers at said ugly bitch as Billie gets to her feet, light eyes turning to her as she brushes the gravel from her legs.

"Your turn." His intense gaze leaves her once again at unease. Unable to form words, Billie takes a moment to run through the best possible responses in her head.

_The scavenging group is trapped and I'm playing hero_

_I got ballsy in front of Shane and no one called my bluff_

_Seemed like a nice day for a walk_

"The others, they're stuck in a department store. Shane refused to risk anymore people or guns, I offered to go in as a distraction for them to get out." It sounds stupid and suicidal as it tumbles out of her mouth, maybe cause in hindsight it kinda is. For his part, Daryl's reaction is not the uncontained laughter that she had prepared herself for. He is quiet, his thoughts no doubt with the only family he's probably ever known.

"How long ago was this?" He asks curtly, his eyes suddenly very focused on the tall buildings in the distance. Billie gnaws against her bottom lip at the telling cinch of his brows. He's in pain, and that is making her very uncomfortable.

"Almost two hours." She decides it's best to keep any and all answers short. Daryl nods, moving towards the driver's side of the truck and yanking it open. He climbs inside without so much of a grunt, his eyes snapping back once to hers with a clear message of 'get in the damn truck or get left behind'. She decides it's probably best not to argue either.

Knife at the ready this time, Billie scampers to the passenger side of the black truck, allowing Norman to jump in first before climbing in herself. Daryl's head is bent beneath the dashboard as she settles in her seat.

"What are you-" She is cut off by the sound of the engine roaring to life, it clearly obvious that he had just hotwired it. The radio emits nothing but static, not a surprise. The emergency broadcasts had stopped running weeks ago. That isn't what concerns Billie right now, her hands digging through the glove compartment until she finds a familiar plastic case.

"You gotta be kiddin' me." Billie stares dumbfounded at the CD case in her hands. No wonder this person had it hidden beneath all those napkins and maintenance manuals.

"Move it mutt!" Daryl shoves at Norman's head poking up from the small back seat as he puts the truck in reverse, his arm clutching at the headrest of Billie's seat as he maneuvers the vehicle back. He apparently is paying no mind to the going-ons of his passenger, her fingers fiddling with the speaker volume.

"Sorry boy, you're not gonna like this." She's not sure to whom she should be apologizing more to as she lets the CD slide into the player.

**YOU PUT THE BOOM BOOM INTO MY HEART!**

"The fuck!" Daryl's foot slams against the break as the speakers blare to life, all passengers being jerked violently back into their seats. His hand flies to the volume knob as he glares daggers into the woman seated next to him.

"We need to have something to draw their attention." Billie asserts, reaching for the volume and cranking it back up.

**GOES A BANG BANG BANG TILL MY FEET DO THE SAME!**

Daryl silences the radio once more regardless of her protests, slapping her hand away as she reaches forward to touch it. She rubs her wrist while holding eye contact against his annoyed gaze.

"I'll lay on the horn or somethin'" He jams the shifter into drive, "No fuckin' way I'm drivin' 'round a mob of Walkers with that shit ringin' in my ears." Billie shrugs, adjusting the weapons at her back to settle on her side.

"You think you can avoid gettin' stuck drivin' one handed, be my guest. When you stop bein' stubborn and gotta take that hand off the horn, we're gonna be rockin' out to some Wham whether you like it or not." Her fingers drum against the butt of Dale's rifle as the truck rolls off the pavement onto the uneven terrain. Daryl eyes the weapon for a second before his focus shifts back onto navigating off road.

"You know how to work that thing?" He nods towards the weapon between them without affecting his line of sight. At the mention of it, Billie moves the gun into her lap, careful to point the tip of the barrel at the passenger side window.

"I know the trigger makes it go 'bang bang bang'." She offers, smirking slyly.

"Damn it woman, can't you be serious for a goddamn second? We're not fuckin' 'round with one or two of those sum'abitches, need to know if you can handle it when shit goes down." He isn't yelling at her, more of a stern warning. Which makes it all the more embarrassing as Billie sinks further into her seat. She is being childish, making light of such a serious situation, of already almost having her face ripped off by one of those creatures.

"Sorry," Her eyes drift out towards the now mud stained window to her right, "I'm bein' an ass, just kinda my natural reaction to shit." She can hear Daryl rustling around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with such an open apology.

"No, I never really handled any guns before this. Dale didn't get a chance to show me either, but he didn't want me goin' into the city without one."

"Ain't that sweet." Daryl growls clearly irked that his only backup has no damn clue how to even cover his ass. His eyes dart briefly over to the weapon, his rough fingers pointing to a small black notch hanging loosely from the side of the gun.

"Pull that up and back to cock it." He instructs, Billie's fingers finding purchase against the cold metal and doing just that. The gun clicks into action instantly.

"It's got a sight, so you use that to make your shot. When you're gonna shoot just line the back of it there against your shoulder, an' brace yourself for that kickback. Gonna hurt like hell." Billie nods while biting her lip, suddenly very aware of the lethal weapon resting in her lap.

"Hey, least you didn't have to hit me this time." She can't help herself, turning just in time to see the bored sneer flash across Daryl's lips, "Sorry."

The truck is wheel deep in grass as they drive through the empty fields surrounding the city, both sets of eyes peeled for any sign of an open path. A sudden downpour makes the dirt beneath them soften and the truck to fishtail dangerously close to the nearby forest.

"We need to get on a road." Daryl throws the windshield wipers into the fastest setting, only smearing the specks of mud and rain making visibility even worse.

"Hold on, I think I see something." Billie rolls down her window, setting Dale's rifle down onto the floorboard before craning her upper body out of it. A quarter of a mile off she spots a chain link fence blocking off an underpass.

"Straight and to the right, we can drive through that fence and take the back alley onto the main roads." Pulling her torso back in, she wipes the rain soaked hair from her face. The storm seems to pass just as quickly as it had started, clearing some of the caked on mud from view as Daryl drives the truck onward. It swerves a couple more times despite his apparent familiarity with four-wheel drive.

"Hit the horn." Daryl orders, his eyes unmoving from the fast approaching fence.

"What?"

"Hit. The. Goddamn. Horn." He emphasizes his point by grabbing Billie's hand from her lap, slapping it onto the center of the steering wheel and pressing down hard. The low-pitched sound beeps once as he lets go of her. She gets the point however, pushing fully against the give that the rough material allows. The front of the truck slams into the gate without pause, the metal links scratching alongside the hood as it pierces through.

Daryl's arm is now over her head, trapping her above his lap as she lays into the horn with all the strength in her forearms. She can feel the heat of a blush stinging her cheeks as she is forced to stare straight at the man's groin.

"So you think **this** is better than sufferin' through some 80s pop?" Billie shouts, craning her neck to glance up at Daryl as much as possible. Per usual he doesn't offer any response. She shifts her bent torso slightly, the hot skin of his arm brushing against her rain soaked neck.

"Fuck." She curses quietly at the slight shiver that his touch incites, the feeling shooting straight down her spine and curling her toes. Of all the inappropriate times for her libido to spring into action, this has got to be the worst.

Daryl is a fairly attractive man, in that dangerous hillbilly sort of way. Constant threat of survival has always sort of pushed those kind of thoughts on the back burner however. Now, in such a precarious position, Billie can't help but shift her legs about uncomfortably. She tries to focus on the deafening horn instead of the urge to nuzzle against the man's thigh just to see how high she can make him jump. Definitely not a good idea to startle the guy piloting the fast moving vehicle you're in surrounded by flesh eating monsters.

"Do you know where you're goin?" Billie's tone is much throatier than before. Daryl again goes oblivious to the fact.

"Merle an' I scouted through here 'fore things started gettin' real bad. Think I know what area they'd be headin' for first." He jerks the wheel sharply to the right, sending Billie's gut careening into the arm rest with a pained 'oof!'.

"Thanks for the warning!" She yells breathlessly, the pain in her stomach now surpassing in importance of any activity playing about between her legs. Barely able to peek out of the driver's side window Billie can see the many faces flash by as she presses even harder into the horn.

"How many?" She's not really sure she wants to hear the answer, but the question forms itself regardless. Daryl's hands flex against the steering wheel, the stress in his forearms telling enough to silently ease her curiosity.

The truck jolts violently as they hit something, followed by the telltale bumps of driving over whatever, _whoever_ it was. She never thought she'd be thankful for almost getting bit, but in all honesty Billie had really no idea how she would've been able to pull this off without Daryl along to assist. Hell, he has taken over the operation completely. The realization is another hit to her ego, but that's a small price to pay for getting her companions out as safely as possible in this type of circumstance.

"There's a bunch of 'em bangin' on that door up ahead. Must be where they're holed up." The engine roars once more as Daryl tests the horsepower to its limit.

"Are they payin' attention to the noise?" Billie unsuccessfully attempts to see over the dash from her position. The only thing she gains is the sharp twinge of pain as Daryl's elbow digs into her back.

"Some of 'em, the rest will catch on when we get closer." Both their bodies lull forward as the truck slows to a stop. Finally releasing her pressure against the horn, Billie rolls her body up into her seat to see the mass mob of walking corpses now shuffling in their direction. The ones nearby are already clawing against the hood, rocking the cabin lightly as they push their bodies against it.

"Oh my God." The gravity of the situation hits Billie like a semi as she clutches at her chest. To say she is out of her element is an understatement, the chances of her having survived this foolish rescue attempt on her own probably in the negatives. Her head rolls over to watch the man to her left, his own eyes flittering over the scene with a disgusted grimace.

"Daryl." His name is soft and pathetic on her lips, but she doesn't care. For all her bluster, the horrors of this world are still somewhat foreign to her even after a month of existing alongside it. The presumed safety of the camp is making her weak.

His expression remains hard as he returns her gaze, calloused hands tightening on the wheel for a moment before throwing the truck into reverse. The tires squeal against the tar of the road, smoke barely reaching the edge of the window as the vehicle lurches backwards to the distasteful groans of the dozen or so walkers now forced into a chase.

Daryl's arm is again behind her at the headrest as her jerks the truck into a half turn. Wanting to make herself useful, Billie reaches for the rifle balanced between her legs.

"Can you hold it here for a second?" She is already rolling down the window and setting her sights on the mob still working fervently to break the glass of the department store entrance. Using the door for stability, she aims past the ones already shuffling at a tired pace to their location.

"Make it quick." Daryl snaps, the sound of his fingers drumming against the steering wheel only mildly distracting. The shot is deafening and precise over the low moans of the dead, followed quickly by muttered cursing as Billie rubs her shoulder gingerly.

"Son of a bitch, you weren't kiddin'." She notices the baseball-sized hole in the stomach of the man she had aimed for. The desired effect is immediate, the one hit turning his attention towards the source of the shot along with a select few nearby. The horde is closing in, Billie managing to let off one more shot, this one grazing the arm of one while miraculously nailing another behind it between the eyes. She is jerked back into her seat when Daryl lays into the gas pedal, still aware enough to yank both Dale's rifle and her arms back into the safety of the cab.

"Let's hope Dale was able to get them on the CB." Daryl simply grunts in agreement as she watches the window roll slowly back up. "Think I should lay on the horn again?" He shifts strangely in his seat at the query, causing Billie to smirk wickedly. Apparently she had not been the only one to notice the awkwardness of **that** situation after all.

"Nah, got most of 'em followin' now. Should give the rest time to get out 'fore that herd loses interest." His eyes flash to the review mirror. Billie is not ashamed to admit being too cowardly to look back herself. Instead she reaches back to pet reassuringly at Norman now lying as flat as the backseat will allow him to.

The drive out of the city is not nearly as difficult as it had been getting into it, the speedometer hitting the high 70s as they reach the open expanse of the exiting road. It is also unbearably silent.

No longer inches from the clawing and decayed hands of death, Billie's mind is free to once again drift to the fleeting touch of his arm against her neck, or the strong scent of what she can only describe as pure Daryl all around her as she was trapped within the confines of his lap. She can't help but miss the constant presence of fear to distract her.

"How long you think it'll take for them to stop chasin' us?" She tries to focus on the rotted faces of the dead. Her traitorous is mind much more determined to picture those tanned hands at the wheel tickling up the sides of her ribcage however, prayers that he hadn't noticed that last crack in her voice going unspoken.

"Dunno." He states simply. It seems that even if he did notice any change in her demeanor, he is at least going to ignore it.

"We'll have to park it overnight, just in case. Don't wanna be leadin' anythin' back up to camp." Of course they would. She is unsure as to what side of the luck coin she is falling upon at the moment, both her brain and her crotch at drastically varying opinions on the matter.

"Right, awesome." She doesn't notice the offended look flash briefly across the hardened redneck's face at her distinctly sarcastic tone.

"Sorry it ain't to your likin' _princess_, but I ain't gonna have the blood of those idiots on my hands cause you're to uppity to spend a night in a truck." Billie is not sure if she is more taken aback by his tone, or the sudden burst of conversation after such a long period of one-word answers and grunted replies.

"What? No, Daryl I-"

"Whatever, like I give a fuck what you got to say anyway. Would've got yourself killed out there alone. Shouldn't have to be babysittin' some bitch dumb enough to go into Walker City with a gun she ain't got no damn clue how to use." Sufficiently distanced from Atlanta Daryl drives the truck onto an off ramp, turning it off road and hidden beneath a small path leading into the woods. Billie is almost too confused to be angry at his harsh criticism, almost.

"Never asked for you to 'babysit' me," She turns her focus on the loose branch squashed against the window, "Ass." He was the one to start with the name-calling, Billie just decides to be an active participant.

The uncomfortable silence settles over the confined space once more, neither passenger willing to admit to clarification or an apology. The sun is just beginning to set, the orange hue of dusk darkening the already shadowed cab even more. She can't see his face, so that is enough of a motivation to move her gaze from the uninteresting surroundings. Considering her options she decides it's probably best to just get an early start on sleep. Daryl isn't much of a morning person, but his attitude will probably be much more sedated at least after a good night's rest.

Billie fumbles with the rifle clumsily, not sure where is best to hold the weapon almost as long as herself. Between her legs seems to be the least awkward, her hands now searching blindly beneath her seat for the reclining controls whilst carefully avoiding whacking herself in the face with said rifle.

Daryl lets out an exasperated grunt beside her.

"Move." He commands, the shadow of his torso looming over as he uses one hand to push her back into the seat. The other hand reaches across her thighs to grab the plastic lever that will allow her to lie more comfortably. It's hard to ignore the pulsing between her legs with the heat radiating from his body, his breath hitting her shoulder in just the right spot as he fidgets closer to better grip the control. She is far too preoccupied with the thudding of her heart to realize he is waiting for her to lean back into the seat to move it. The damn thing feels like it's about to jump clear out of her throat.

He apparently gets impatient, using the hand already against her chest to force her rapidly back. Still unable to move or form words, Billie stares wide eyed up at the ceiling. The pressure of the gun against her leg disappearing makes her glance forward to see Daryl taking the weapon along with him as he returns to his side of the truck.

"Don't want you shootin' my damn head off in your sleep." He answers to her questioning gaze. It only figures that he'd be able to see her perfectly clear in this darkness while she is completely at a loss. Without the nuisance of it, Billie is free to roll onto her side and to give her back to him.

She isn't sure where that sudden snap of anger had come from, but deep down Billie knew he was right. There'd be no way this trip would have run smoothly, let alone successfully, if Daryl hadn't happened to be nearby to save her ass. The realization shames her, but also incites the already blossoming desire to be better, to be stronger and self-sufficient. The hunter is hardly going to be shadowing every time she decides to go off and do something stupid and rash. Even with good intentions, that's all this plan was when it came down to it. Foolish bravery.

"You're right, I would've been screwed out there." She doesn't turn to see if Daryl bothers to pay attention to her words, "Thank you." Continued silence is her only response, not that she is expecting anything else. Daryl is hardly the one to accept gratitude with open arms and a smile.

"You're still an ass though." The sound of Daryl's laugh is quick, barely more than a hiccup. It leaves Billie grinning like an idiot regardless.

_A/N: A bit heavy on the Daryl this chapter, but I didn't think you guys would mind that so much. And WHOO HOO, truck sleepover! Gotta admit, I did a little happy jig when I noticed that I got a couple of favorites from the last chapter, very exciting. LadyLecter, Emberka, SaraLostInes, thanks as always for the reviews. Always does a writer's heart good to see that little number tick up. To the rest of you readers and followers, thank you and I hope you're enjoying yourself!_


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